


something about us started centuries ago

by andchaos



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: “We will see each other again,” said Max. “Even far away from here. Even in another life.”or the one where every time you die you get reincarnated into another soul being born nearby





	something about us started centuries ago

**Author's Note:**

> title from [past lives by kesha](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7Z_Fls4y3k)
> 
>  [my tumblr](http://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/167235570480/)
> 
> xo

_February, 1721_

 

Max was laughing uproariously from the other side of the table, her face lit up handsomely every time she threw back her head. It wasn’t that much more lined than it had been the last time Anne had seen her, but Anne could tell, even in the little things.

“Did they actually think they could hang you?” Max asked. “Did they really think that Anne Bonny wouldn’t come right back from the edge of the grave?”

Anne shook her head.

“We haven’t ever tangled with the Jamaicans before. They didn’t know who they were messing with.”  She was grinning, too, but after a moment her smile faded. She added, “I don’t know what Jack was thinking, not putting up a fight.”

Max covered Anne’s hand with her own, where it rested on top of the table.

“Jack was very brave and strong,” she said. Anne swallowed down the lump that came into her throat, hearing him used in the past tense like that. “I’m sure he would have fought back if he could. These men, they don’t have as many ways out as we women do. If you hadn’t told them you were pregnant…”

“I know,” said Anne grimly. “I’d be swinging up there right next to him. I’m lucky I bought enough time to escape.”

There was a tense, unhappy pause. Max let go of Anne’s hand and sipped at the mead in front of her. Anne called over one of the barmaids and asked for something stronger.

“What about the others?” asked Max after a moment. “I noticed you didn’t sail back here on the _Ranger_.”

“They were all captured.” Anne shook her head. The barmaid set a heavy cup of gin on the table beside her. “Thanks. Yeah, they got the whole fucking ship. Every last one of them was killed or taken in.”

Max looked down at the table. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re cowards for not fighting,” said Anne fiercely, even though she knew they had been well overpowered and most of her crew had been drunk when they got boarded, and she could hear, too, how her voice was strangled and weak from trying not to cry. “Anyway, I made it out—why couldn’t they? I had to sail back with a bunch of merchants I knew were heading out your way. I had to tell them I’d been captured and stranded by pirates—God knows why they believed me…I just had to get back here. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to start over.”

Max was biting her lip when she looked back up at Anne, and despite her sinking heart, Anne was just relieved to be back here, sitting across from her. Whatever happened next, it wouldn’t be so bad so long as she always got to come back and see Max, sitting across from her.

“You know we don’t handle much piracy now…” Max started.

Anne shook her head. “I ain’t asking for a new ship, Max. Not for anything. I just wanted to come back where I knew people…I figure it’s as good a place as any to start over.”

She drained the remainder of her gin, shivering when it made its way, hot and piercing, down her throat. She knew she was going to end up just like Jack, when it came down to it—there wasn’t any other way that she was getting out of this life, and she sure as hell wouldn’t die at the hands of any other pirates. She always came out on top, when she was out on the waters.

“Of course, you can stay here as long as you want.” Max’s sly smile turned flirty, and she added, “I hope that you’ll stay at least one night with me.”

Anne grinned suddenly. “Who says I wanted to see _you_?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

Anne shook her head, averting her eyes so Max couldn’t see her smiling. She knew she had no right to be happy after all she had so recently lost, but she couldn’t help it. Max always got right through to the heart of her.

“Come on,” Max coaxed. “It will be alright.”

Max reached out and touched Anne’s cheek, lightly, with her fingertips. Anne looked up at her at last.

Max got to her feet, and she reached out for Anne’s hand and tugged on it, urging her up alongside her. Anne was pulled flush against her, and she smiled again helplessly when Max leaned up and kissed her hard.

“Come on,” Max said again.

She tugged again on Anne’s hand, and Anne followed her as she started to make her way up the steps to where she still resided in the madam’s room at the top of the staircase. Even though Idelle technically ran the island now, everyone knew who was still really in charge behind all the bluster.

“I’m sure my problems will still be there in the morning,” Anne conceded.

Nodding solemnly, Max shut the door to her bedroom behind them and pushed Anne up against it to kiss her again.

 

Anne stayed in Nassau for a couple of months, helping Max run the island. They both gave each other a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, and they were usually so exhausted that Max seemed as relieved as she always was to see a lover’s face waiting beneath the covers when they got home. Max didn’t mention Jack’s or the rest of the dead crew’s names after that first day, and Anne tried not to let the thought of their ghosts plague her mind during the quiet hours between wakefulness and sleep.

Sometimes Jack visited her in dreams, asking why she was stalling, holed up in Nassau instead of out on the sea where she belonged. Anne didn’t know if he was really coming to her in dreams or if it was her own guilt and fear manifesting him into her subconscious.

One day in the waning of spring, Anne rolled over to Max when she felt her waking up beside her. As though she could feel the mood in the air, Max rolled over towards her and wrapped an arm around Anne’s waist, nestling her face into the dip of her bare collarbone. Anne let the silence tick on for a minute, for two, for three. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, to break the silence of their sixty some-odd days of peace.

“I have to leave soon,” Anne whispered after a long, long while.

Instead of saying anything right away, Max only squeezed her tighter.

“I’ve just been afraid, all these months here with you. I’ve been hiding.”

“What are you scared of?” whispered Max. “Death?”

Anne took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. Her eyes traced the cracks running all along the ceiling.

“No,” she said at last, once she was sure it was true. “I think I’ve been scared of not doing enough for Jack’s memory. I know it’s worse to stay here, hiding. But I can’t imagine being out there without him. I want to honor him, I don’t want to let him down.”

It was the first time either of them had said Jack’s name aloud since February, and Anne could feel the shift in Max’s body as she struggled to handle the subject delicately. But Anne was tired—much too tired for being handled lightly.

“I just have to go,” said Anne. “It’s time. I’ve got to.”

Max said nothing for a moment. Then she released her, and she crawled over Anne’s body instead so they were face-to-face, Max looming above her like a lit-up god. Max lowered her forehead to Anne’s and closed her eyes, but Anne kept hers open, so she could study every centimeter of her visage. She could have at least one familiar face beside her while she was out there.

“I understand,” said Max at last. “Just stay until tomorrow. I can get you a ship, and supplies. I might even be able to find a crew for you to set off with. Just give me a day. One day.”

After a second, Anne nodded. She didn’t know how much of her own desire to concede was because it was practical, and how much was because she needed as much time as she could snatch in Max’s arms.

Max leaned down and pressed her mouth gently to Anne’s. By degrees, she relaxed her body until she was laying over Anne’s completely, bare skin touching bare skin at every possible place. Anne wrapped her arms around Max’s waist and deepened the kiss. She wanted to make this moment last.

 

Anne set off the next day, with plans to visit Max again as often as she could.

In the end she did get to come back. She visited thirteen more times, staying for a few weeks each. The last time she came, there was something in Max’s eyes when she looked at her, like she knew it really was the last time—like she knew there was something coming that Anne couldn’t quite yet see.

Or maybe she _could_ see it, which was why she only smiled faintly back at Max when she reached out to stroke Anne’s cheek down by the beach just before she set out. Anne closed her eyes and leaned into the pressure for just a moment—a stolen second that nobody would ever see.

“We will see each other again,” said Max. “Even far away from here. Even in another life.”

Anne, forever too fierce for truth, surged forward and kissed her, hard enough to make them both sway with only the uneven sand beneath their feet for a foothold. Max staggered before cupping either side of Anne’s face and pulling her in closer.

“Don’t talk like that,” said Anne, knocking her forehead against Max’s. “I’ve still got a while left here. I ain’t ready to see Jack yet—I got a few more things I’ve got to do first.”

Max smiled quietly. When she leaned up to catch Anne’s lips with her own again, it was even softer than her smile.

“I know you will,” said Max.

And then they said goodbye, and Anne stood at the stern of the ship to watch Max fade into a speck at the shoreline. She had turned and gone back to her business, gone back to the everyday push-and-pull of life in Nassau, long before the island became a faded dot on the horizon, but still Anne watched it go.

Anne ultimately died of natural causes on the beaches of some far-off island, under a male pseudonym, later that year. Her whole crew was surrounding her and the ghosts of her past were standing guard at the shoreline, waiting for her to come home and join them.

 

* * * *

 

_June 1757_

 

There was a curious girl watching Anne from across the square. Anne had noticed her when she had first entered the marketplace, not just because she was carrying a basket stocked full of food fit for a queen nor because she was strikingly beautiful, though she was both—but because the second their eyes met for just a second, the woman stopped short in her tracks and stood staring at Anne, eyes wide and lips softly parted.

It was almost, if Anne didn’t know any better and wouldn’t have surely recognized her had they met before, like the woman already knew her. No, not just that—like she had been sitting in a house all these years, waiting for Anne’s ghost to come and haunt it.

Anne pulled the fabric up over her mouth and nose to better cover her face and looked away. It wasn’t that suspicious; a lot of other women around the square were covering up in some form or another too, but Anne still felt like she announcing _“hey, I’m thieving!”_ to the whole entire world.

Still, this job was making it worth her nerves. She was supposed to be waiting for Jack’s distraction so she could slip in and steal from the jeweler’s stand. The man who fenced for them, a loud and cocky sonofabitch called Silver who nevertheless paid well enough to make it worth the trouble of dealing with him, had promised something extra good if they got this piece.

But as Anne started to cross the square toward the mark’s stand, she noticed the woman again. And she was still staring.

Frustrated, Anne slipped further back into the crowd. She wasn’t going to have time for this if the woman stalled her much longer—she didn’t have time to shake her off, and she couldn’t get Jack’s attention to tell him to hold off on the distraction because she, as per the plan, had absolutely no idea where he was. Jack was more of a “we’ll see what inspiration strikes” kind of planner, which was both a treasured asset at times and the biggest pain in Anne’s neck at others.

Anne decided to creep around the edge of the stands instead. She had a bigger risk of being spotted by suspicious sellers this way, but seeing as she was already being watched out in the open, she really had nothing to lose.

She slipped further back into the crowd and let the other people in the market square shield her. She pretended to be looking at wares as she edged along the different stalls, but really she had one ear out for whatever Jack was planning and an eye on the jeweler. It was most important that she knew where he was at all times.

Just as she was getting close, she happened to glance back into the crowd—and there was the woman, only two stalls down from her now. Anne startled and paused, watching her look at pears to check for bruises and seeming to haggle with the seller. Even though the woman was no longer facing her, Anne felt sure, in some odd way, that she was still being watched out of the corner of her eye.

Anne slipped out of the market completely and down a side alley between a bookstore building and a boarded-up cobbler while the woman was otherwise preoccupied. Anne waited until she bored of the pears and wandered toward another stand. Then, frustrated, and hoping against all hope that inspiration took a little bit longer to strike Jack than they had initially planned, Anne reached out of the alley as the woman was passing by and, quickly enough that no one in the bustling market should notice, she grabbed her roughly by the arms and pulled her down into the alley with her.

She pinned the woman up against the side of the empty cobbler’s and, in another second, had a knife pressed against the woman’s throat.

“What the fuck are you watching me for?” Anne growled, shoving the woman harder into the wall. “Hmm? Did Teach send you? You’re not one of the king’s men, are you?”

The woman, who had seemed so innocently surprised to notice her in the market, for the first time appeared to rustle up some real fear.

“ _No_ ,” said the woman, and Anne was surprised to hear a French accent from a lone woman way out here in the British Isles. “No, no one sent me after you.”

Anne snarled. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I swear!” said the woman, scrabbling at Anne’s forearm across her chest. “I’m just—I saw you and you looked like…someone I once knew.”

Anne faltered, the woman sounded so sincere. She didn’t drop the knife, but the cage of her arm slacked just a little.

“My name is Max,” she continued slowly, squinting at what little she could see of Anne’s face. “Do you…do we know each other?”

Anne blinked at her.

“No. Why?” Getting hostile again, she added, “Why? You ain’t seen me before, have you?”

“No, I promise,” said the woman. She sounded much less afraid now, her tone edging closer to awe. Anne almost believed her. “I don’t know why, I just…it’s in the eyes. Who are you?”

Anne had regained herself, and she pressed Max up harder against the wall.

“Who are _you_?” she repeated, though she struggled to find the same fierceness she had had before. “Why are you watching me?”

“I—” Max struggled a bit against Anne’s hold, but she didn’t try too hard with the knife still pressed to her neck. She sagged back against the wall instead. “I’m just a traveler, is all. I came here with a companion of mine, years ago. Eleanor. She’s married by now, anyway, that doesn’t matter. I just saw you and I thought—you looked familiar—”

“What the fuck are you talking about, huh? Who sent you after me?”

“Nobody, nobody!” Max said. The lighted look on her face dimmed the more she looked at Anne, and now she was full on frowning. “You…really don’t think you know me?”

The weirdest thing was—the more Anne looked at her face—the less she was sure.

Instead of letting her confusion show on her face though, Anne snarled. “How long have you been following me?”

“I…what? No, I just—I just saw you now, in the square. Look,” said Max. She was slumping further into the wall now, her brow drawn, “Do you believe in fate?”

The question came so far from nowhere that for the first time, Anne dropped her guard. She dropped the knife down to her side and took a step back, appraising Max now more fully. Max didn’t attack her though, so it didn’t appear to be any kind of ruse; she just stood there in her full-length dress, looking entirely unassuming and watching Anne softly, and waiting.

At last, Anne said gruffly, “What?”

“Fate, you know,” said Max. She gestured with her hands when she talked free, Anne noticed. “Reincarnation, living another life after this one. Another half of your soul out there somewhere.”

Anne just stared at her.

“I’m just saying,” said Max, ducking her head and smiling now, “don’t you ever feel like you’ve met someone before the very first time you see them?”

Anne couldn’t help but watch, somewhat entranced, with the way stray hairs fell against her face when she looked down. She couldn’t help but notice, either, how Max looked away from her unguardedly, the way someone who’s been trained to track women like Anne never would. Max looked up again, her expression earnest and sure.

“Not really,” said Anne, shaking her head.

“Oh, God,” said Max, pressing her lips together. She tilted her head up towards the sky now and shook it a little. “I must sound crazy, I know. I know I haven’t seen you anywhere. I would have remembered.”

“I don’t really believe in all that,” said Anne slowly, although now she was much less sure. “Ain’t you a Christian?”

Max grinned at her. “I think so.”

“Then I really _don’t_ get you.”

Max took a step forward, reaching out excitedly for Anne’s hand the way girls sometimes did, without thinking, but Anne warily took a step back and raised her knife again, uncertain. Max sank back against the opposite wall, but she didn’t look frightened anymore or even abashed.

“I just think there must be more out there, sometimes,” said Max, gesturing around them but seeming to indicate the whole world. When Anne said nothing, Max rolled her eyes. “I’ve been all around the world, but I still think that there is so much more to discover and I don’t know how to get to it.”

Anne sighed, running her fingers absently through her hair.

“Yeah,” she said, and she couldn’t help but look at Max while she said it. “Like there’s something missing, right? Like you’ve got this pull toward something, and it’s not just to travel like everybody else wants. It’s like you’re going toward something but you don’t know what.”

“Exactly,” said Max, nodding. Her eyes were wide, on Anne’s. “And now I…”

She cleared her throat, shook her head. Anne’s question about what she had been about to say stuck in her mouth and she couldn’t spit it out. She wasn’t even sure that she truly wanted to know.

“What are you doing tonight?” Max asked abruptly.

Anne stared at her. “What about tonight?”

“Let me take you out for a drink. I can show you around,” said Max. She looked her up and down. “We can find out if we’ve ever crossed paths before after all. I assume you’ll still be in town?”

“Might be,” said Anne, shifting her weight between her feet. “Look, I don’t really do—”

“It will be fun, I promise,” said Max. “Can’t you still feel that pull?”

Anne could. It was itching right now under her skin, a ball inside of her chest. She still didn’t know what it wanted, what it was leading her toward—but it wanted her to say yes.

Max reached out and lightly touched Anne’s arm, and Anne felt sparks shoot suddenly from the point where Max’s hand was all the way up to her shoulder and into her heart. Her whole body flushed warm, and Anne stepped away, feeling her cheeks redden. She tugged the fabric still hiding her face down around her neck, needing room to breathe. When she peered up at Max, Max was smiling at her with all her teeth.

Anne shook her head again, trying to impose logic over that bubbling energy inside her. “I don’t have time for fun.”

“Oh, that’s all you do,” said Max, waving her hand. “Chase thrills and adventure, right?”

Anne pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. Max pretty much had her down, but she wasn’t going to admit that. Not that Max had said it like a question.

“You’re mad,” said Anne, dipping her head, shaking it so her hair fell in front of her face and she didn’t have to look at her.

“There are worse ways to spend your nights than with mad girls with pretty faces,” said Max, When Anne looked up, Max was tilting her head, still wearing that same tiny smile.

Anne rolled her eyes, half-grinning. She was just about to decline again, albeit with a more torn heart this time, when she heard from the main market square the distinct sound of a big cart full of metal tipping over and several people cursing at the top of their lungs.

Anne looked at Max, arching an eyebrow.

“They’re calling my name,” she said.

She was already pulling the fabric up over her face again and turning to exit out of the alleyway. From behind her, Max called,

“I’ll be at the Wharf Tavern at eight tonight if you change your mind.”

Anne shook her head and without another word slipped out of there and into the fray.

 

Around ten that night, with her pockets jingling with a lot of Silver’s gold and her heart and belly warm with the celebratory ale she and Jack had drunk before he’d passed out in their bed, Anne slipped inside the Wharf. Without looking around, she sidled up to the bar, next to a head of curly dark hair. She would, somehow, have recognized it anywhere.

“Hope I ain’t too late,” she said, setting her elbows down on the bartop.

Not looking at her either, Max slid a large flagon of mead in front of her.

“You’re right on time,” Max assured her.

 

* * * *

_March 1803_

Anne’s fourteenth birthday was a quiet affair. She was working in a factory by then, undercover as a man named Andy, pumping out endless weapons for the war against France that England hadn’t yet declared. The whole country was already abuzz with all the tension and they all knew it was only a matter of time before they were leaving soldiers from both sides bleeding out all over the battlefields.

She and Jack were both friendly with their boss, a tough brute named Charles Vane who was nevertheless a good laugh and a good friend to have your back in a fight, which all three of them found themselves in more often than not. Other than Jack, Charles was also the only one who knew that Anne was really a woman—but as long as she kept putting out twice as much work as all the boys there, he didn’t seem to really care.

Their strange version of friendship had a second upside, on top of her keeping her job: Charles gave her the rare early end of the day for her birthday, and she, Jack, and Charles all headed to the pub a few hours before any of the other workers would be free to go.

Charles and Jack bought the first few rounds in lieu of a present that none of them could afford anyway. Anne appreciated it more than the necklaces and negligee that her mother and sisters insisted on giving her every year; they were desperate for her to try and attract a husband soon, but Anne had never had much interest in that department. She felt much more at home in britches at the factory, getting her hands greasy with the others and laughing all tipsy on mead at the local bar with Jack and the others.

“So, Anne, you’re basically a woman now. Right?” asked Charles, as he slammed down one pitcher of mead and gestured roughly for the barmaid to bring him another one. “What does that mean?”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘what does that mean’?” Anne snorted. “It don’t mean jack shit.”

“I mean, your parents must be dying to marry you off.” He looked her up at down. “I can’t imagine you’d go for much, though.”

“They think Jack’s a suitor,” Anne said, rolling her eyes. “I let them believe it, ‘cause he’s the only one that ever comes ’round.”

Charles squinted, looking between them, suddenly suspicious. “You two ain’t—”

“ _God_ no,” said Anne at once, “ _Jack_ —?” at the same time that Jack said, “Not since she left me to run off with that Mary Read for a _long_ good while. After that, I knew it wasn’t going to be the same between us. Not like that, anyway.”

Charles squinted. “You don’t mean—not Mark?” They both nodded solemnly, and Charles made a strange face for a moment before taking a large swig of his drink. “Well, shit. How many of my best men are women, after all?”

Anne shook her head. “More than you know.”

“I think it takes a woman’s eye to spot another one,” said Jack grimly. He thumped Charles on the back. “Don’t get too hung up on it. They’ve given you some of your best numbers.”

“Damn,” said Charles, and he drank some more. Anne and Jack looked at each other, trying not to laugh.

“Men,” said Anne, her lip curling. She finished off the rest of her mug and wiped her hand roughly across her mouth, then got to her feet. “You’re all useless, you are. I’m getting the next round.”

“No,” said Jack at once, also standing. “It’s your birthday—”

“Ay, fuck off,” said Anne, shoving at his shoulder until he sat down again. “I need a minute away from the man stink. Your empty heads are suffocating me.”

They both flipped her off. Anne gave them the bird right back and headed over to the bar, leaning her hip against it and gesturing for the barmaid’s attention. The woman behind the counter, busy with the till, indicated that she would be right over without looking up. Anne sighed and faced away from the bar, leaning her hips against the wood and setting her elbows on the bar top.

After a minute, she heard a no-nonsense voice in a purring French accent say, “What can I offer you, Miss?”

Anne turned around, her order ready on her tongue—and their eyes met, and the drink stalled in her throat.

The woman was gorgeous, of course. Slim, sleek black braids went round her head, the rest of her hair set in perfect curls to fall down and sway by her waist. Her breasts were particularly prominent her low-cut, full-length dress, ruffles at the neckline that did nothing to hide what lay beneath it. She was wearing a strange look on her face, almost like she recognized Anne, almost like she was relieved to be seeing her now. Anne was sure she would have recognized her, though, she would have remembered if they had ever met before.

Then the woman giggled, her pretty lips curling up, and Anne realized she was staring.

“I—something strong,” said Anne at last. “Whatever you recommend.”

The woman’s smile turned sly, her expression smoothed over and back to normal, and she winked. “I’ve just got the thing for you,” she said.

She busied herself behind the counter. Anne leaned her elbows on the wood surface, staring greedily at the woman’s curves made evident by the tight belt she wore around her dress. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Anne made sure to return her gaze up to her face when the woman turned back around, sliding the drink over the counter toward her.

“How much—” Anne started to say, but the woman cut her off.

“It’s on the house,” she said, her voice low and made even more seductive by the obvious French inflection. Anne swallowed, and after a moment of trying to force her sluggish thoughts to form a coherent sentence, she said,

“I can’t. I’ve got to owe you something.”

“No,” said the woman, shaking her head. Anne watched, almost mesmerized, as her curls swayed gently back and forth. “It’s on me, honest.”

“Well—I guess it _is_ my birthday,” said Anne, smiling crookedly. She reached forward and curled her fingers around the glass. “I’ll just consider it a present from you.”

“Good,” said the woman warmly. “Happy birthday…?”

“Anne,” she said.

The woman nodded. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip for a second, and then she said, “Happy birthday, Anne. I’m Max.”

Anne couldn’t help it this time; she wasn’t subtle as she let her gaze travel slow and obvious over Max’s body again, and she said, “Thanks, Max. I still think I should pay you something—I don’t like owing debts.”

“I thought it was a present?” said Max, almost innocently except Anne couldn’t believe that, not with the dark look that clouded her eyes when she said it. “Alright. Meet me after my shift—I’m off in another two hours. You drink for free for the rest of the night, and you can take me out to dinner after to show your appreciation for my generosity.”

Anne pressed her lips together, and finally drew the mug towards her.

“Alright,” she said. “See you tonight, Max.”

Max just watched her, smiling softly, as Anne nodded jerkily and turned to head back to her table.

Jack and Charles were playing some kind of card game, and they didn’t seem to notice Anne’s absence. They barely looked up when she returned, and as she sat down, Jack said they were playing Cribbage with the scorecard drawn on a napkin and asked if she wanted to join. Anne took a long gulp of her drink, set it down, and told them to deal her in.

 

Max was even more beautiful with the moonlight shimmering off of her as they walked along the pier than she had been under the dim lights of the pub. The night was cold, and Max was wearing a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She kept refusing whenever Anne offered to let her borrow her double-breasted coat, even though she was wearing a relatively warm linen shirt underneath it.

“So how has your birthday been so far?” said Max.

They had been sitting by the pier for a couple of hours before they decided to get up and walk around, as the temperature was dropping considerably as night settled over the city like a fog, and the cool breeze coming off the water hadn’t been doing them any favors.

Now they hadn’t spoken in nearly fifteen minutes, just walking along down the street and looking far out into the horizon. Anne had always felt a pull toward the water, and she always knew that she would find a way to end up out there one day. She didn’t know how yet, but she would do whatever she had to, to escape.

But now she was looking at Max, and she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. She felt a little lightheaded, reeling like this after just one night.

“It’s alright,” said Anne at last. “I worked nine hours, but my boss let me out early and took me and my best mate out for drinks afterwards.”

“And now you’ve met an enchanting barmaid,” said Max, smiling slyly. “Your day keeps getting better.”

Anne pressed her lips together, dipping her head down too. It was too dark for Max to be able to see her reddening cheeks, but Anne felt sure that somehow Max could tell anyway. She had the strangest sensation that Max could see right through her, into the very core of her being.

“We’ll see,” said Anne at last.

For some reason, Max seemed to find this extremely entertaining. Her hair shook back over her shoulders when she tilted her head back to laugh, and Anne watched, enchanted, at the way they glistened in the moonlight. She had an urge to press closer to Max and the warmth she radiated out of every inch of her being, so she did. Max stopped laughing abruptly, but Anne’s blood didn’t even have time to turn ice cold at the gesture before Max smiled quietly and leaned into her too. Their shoulders pressed together, and honeyed warmth shot all the way down Anne’s arm and settled in the pit of her stomach, like a sweet fire lighting up all of her bones.

She realized she wasn’t breathing and, just as she was starting to regain a steady rhythm in her heart, she looked up into Max’s face and saw that Max was staring at her steadily, a heavy gaze offset by something else underneath, something Anne couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“What?” she asked, bumping her shoulder into Max’s and ignoring the resulting shiver that shocked through her nerves. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

Max shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said, looking away. “Just looking at how you look under the moon.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” said Anne, though her cheeks were glowing again. “I can damn well tell when people are thinking—I don’t see much of it around my mates, it’s sort of obvious the rare time it happens. I’ve learned to recognize it.”

Max laughed, and Anne smiled at her in return. Max pressed her lips together, watching Anne for a moment, before relaxing. Anne tried not to stare at how her lips turned white and then faded slowly back into a dark rosy color when she released the pressure on them.

“I just,” said Max at last, breathing in audibly, then pausing. “Don’t make fun of me—but we knew each other. Somewhere in a past life.”

She sounded far away. Disliking the distance, Anne reached her hand out and softly, carefully, touched her pinky to Max’s. When Max didn’t pull hers away, Anne grew braver. She slipped her palm over Max’s and threaded their fingers together, and only when Max squeezed her hand did Anne feel like she could let out her held breath. She looked over to see Max gazing quietly and affectionately back at her, pulled back into the moment with Anne.

“You’re right,” said Anne, “that does sound ridiculous.”

Max didn’t laugh like Anne had expected. She just watched Anne in silence, and Anne’s smile dimmed after a minute.

“I mean it,” said Max. “I knew it from the second I saw you. Before that, even. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I would have liked that,” said Anne.

Max pulled her to a stop. Anne paused, her breath catching when she noticed how close they were together when they looked at each other, almost nose-to-nose in the middle of the street. Max glanced around, and Anne did too on instinct, making sure nobody was near. The night was dark, though, the streetlamps off and all the lights put out in the windows of the shops and houses nearby.

Stepping closer, Max slipped her hand out of Anne’s and cupped both of them around Anne’s cheeks. Anne closed her eyes, and Max pressed her mouth against Anne’s, soft and urgent at the same time, but beautiful in a way Anne hadn’t ever felt with Jack or Mary or the others.

The kiss lingered, not deepening but not pulling away either. Even when they stopped, Anne kept her eyes closed for a moment, feeling Max’s breath on her lips and knowing that her own breathing was more labored than usual.

Finally, Anne opened her eyes. Max’s were already wide, looking right into hers. She pulled one of her hands off Anne’s cheek, but Anne raised her own to lock around Max’s other wrist, keeping that palm against her face. She leaned gently into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a minute before she looked back into Max’s soft, steady gaze.

“I hope so,” Anne said.

“At the very least, we have this one,” said Max.

 

* * *

_December 1893_

It wasn’t popular, believing in reincarnation the way that the pair of them did when everyone was supposed to be Christianly and pious, believing in Heaven and an afterlife. Anne just wasn’t sure how they could be that way, when she and Max could both remember lives and lives before this, where they had always ended up finding each other.

There were lives where they didn’t recognize one another, and lives where only one of them remembered, and then beautiful lives like this one, where they had seen each other across the cobblestone road from their separate hotels where they faced into one another’s rooms, and instantly known that _this woman_ , this woman looking out across the street through the glass back at her, was the one that Anne had been remembering and searching for, unsure if she was real or even possible, her whole life. But no matter whether they spent years trying to find each other without knowing for what or even that they were searching, or if they knew each other from the very first glance, Max always seemed to be waiting for Anne at the end of a long and winding road.

And even without their half-Catholic views and certain blasphemous truths, they were already disliked anyway, two women living in a Boston Marriage together, both in their early thirties so all of the neighbors knew what was what anyway. Couple that with the facts that they were both foreigners and Max wasn’t white, it was easier to ignore all the gossip and ugly stares and find solace in only one another, anyway. The only ones who weren’t cruel to them were the three people that lived in the house just across the street, a husband and wife and their friend James. Max liked to wave at them whenever they saw each other on the street. Anne and James seemed to understand one another in a peculiar way, nodding curtly whenever they crossed paths in the market or saw each other on their separate lawns.

“Are you listening to me?” Max asked.

Anne nodded, tired and absent.

Max cleared her throat. She pulled Anne’s legs closer to her where they were already draped over her lap. They were spread out over a blanket near the fire, and Anne was lying comfortably on their fur rug, while Max sat up leaning against the recliner and reading aloud something from the newspaper. Anne was only half-listening, drifting in an out of almost-sleep, but she was enjoying the soothing sound of Max’s voice.

At last, Max seemed to finish the story. She shifted Anne’s weight from her legs and stretched out beside Anne, who reached out her arm so Max could lay her head comfortably into the crook of her shoulder. Anne started absently brushing Max’s hair with her fingers, the usual springy curls now more wavy from spending most of the day in a braid.

Anne turned to press a kiss to Max’s forehead, and Max sighed against her throat. Anne watched the roaring flames in the fireplace, feeling the heat of it warm her skin to a point of near discomfort, and listened to the steady, quiet pounding of someone’s heart—whether it was hers of Max’s, she wasn’t quite sure. She closed her eyes and thought about going to sleep. She nearly did, but a thought was tugging at the edge of her consciousness and it wouldn’t go away no matter how she batted at it.

“What would you do,” asked Anne quietly, “if in the next life we grew up and grew old and we never met or knew each other?”

Anne was holding her breath, but Max sighed lengthily. She lifted Anne’s hand from where it was lying beside Max’s ribs and pressed it to her lips.

“That won’t happen,” said Max firmly, almost matter-of-factly, as if she had seen all of their many lives together, past and future, already.

Anne couldn’t be as sure as Max. She persisted, “But what if it does?”

Max sighed and rolled onto her stomach, out of the circle of Anne’s arms. She lifted herself up on her elbows, her chin resting on her hand, and pierced Anne with one of her sure, steady gazes. It was one of her looks that gave Anne no room to disagree.

“Then I’ll find you in the next one,” said Max fiercely. “Or the one after that, or after _that_.”

“I just–”

“Haven’t you gotten it yet, Anne?”

Max lifted her face closer, and Anne sighed and gave in, leaning in too so they could kiss. She felt Max plant her hands firmly on either side of her middle, boxing her in while she leaned over her, and Anne started smiling against her mouth.

Max kissed her and kissed her until Anne nearly forgot what they were talking about, and only then did Max lean back just far enough for Anne to put her face into focus. She was shiny and bright in the firelight, her lips harsh red from kissing, her body aglow.

“We’re always going to find each other,” Max whispered. She bumped her nose gently against Anne’s, her lips teasing Anne’s without fully touching. “Don’t you see? Not everybody gets so lucky as us, to find someone in life after life. So I’ll keep on finding you. It’s like…what we’re meant to do. Why else would it keep happening?”

“Shut up,” said Anne, grinning.

She pulled at Max until she acquiesced and kissed her again, and this time Max let her whole body weight fall down on Anne so they were pressed together all over. Anne felt like her love for her was as bright as her whole self was warm when Max laid on her like this, full-bodied and by the fire.

Max sighed again and Anne drew Max’s bottom lip in between her teeth, biting down just hard enough that she could feel Max shudder.

“Why waste this fire talking about shit we don’t know nothing about?” said Anne.

Max sat up, Anne’s curious eyes following her every move. Smiling slyly, Max drew her shirt up and over her head, then lay back down beside her on the rug. Evidently, she couldn’t agree more.

 

They lay bare on the fur rug after, stretched out contentedly. Max was laying propped up on one elbow, and Anne mirrored her, resting her weight on her side and the underside of her bicep. She wanted to lay down properly but she couldn’t stop her hand from tracing all over Max’s bare body, down her collar and between her breasts and stroking over the jutting bone of her hip. Max was watching Anne’s face while she watched her own hand, and they weren’t really speaking. Thought and love hung heavy in the air like a French perfume.

“I don’t believe in fate and all that,” said Anne after a long while. She lifted her eyes so they could trace Max’s face, as though she didn’t already have it etched into the very vessels of her heart. Max hummed. “I don’t think we’re made to do one thing or another.”

“No?” said Max, voice playful. She clearly disagreed, but she was humoring her. She took Anne’s hand off her waist and lifted it to her mouth, pressing a smacking kiss to her palm.

“No,” said Anne. She took back her hand and used it to stroke over Max’s cheek instead. “But I think we keep finding each other. That means something anyway.”

Max just looked at her for a second. Then she said, “Come here,” and pulled Anne back in by her shoulders.

They were quiet again after that—as far as conversation went, anyway. Anne, privately, thought she didn’t care much whether it was destined or just random that they kept winding up together—but she didn’t really mind either way, not so long as she wound up in Max’s arms every time.

 

* * * *

 

_April 1942_

 

Anne waited patiently for September every year.

She was four when something deep lit up within her, some fire in the very pits of her stomach, and she knew that her waiting was almost through.

The summer was long that year, an interminable stretch from April into the long, hot months, and then still another few weeks of sitting alone by the fire every night while Jack’s mother knitted in the big chair and his father ignored them to have affairs with a local seamstress. Jack’s parents had taken her in after her own had left her, but Anne had never felt like they were her own. Nevertheless, they treated her like it. Anne went to town to do the shopping with their mother, she and Jack went to the park on the weekends, and she spent her free times playing soldier with Jack and their friend Billy, where they hit each other with sticks from the garden and pretended they were old enough to serve in the war with all the of-age boys. They ignored the fact that Anne was a girl, so they would never ask her even once she turned eighteen.

And then the autumn came. It blew in at the tail end of August, bitter winds slicing up Anne’s cherub cheeks and leaving her crying into her mother’s skirts more often than not. She and Jack held hands through their mittens whenever they played together. Anne was busier than ever with the start of kindergarten, but despite all this Anne was always waiting.

On September thirteenth, first thing in the morning, Anne cut her hand open on a big kitchen knife. Her mother fussed over the “accident,” but the whole ride to the hospital Jack was watching her from the seat beside her, his eyes wide and knowing.

The nurses stitched up her hand and wanted her to stay a few extra hours so she could rest. At four o’clock, Anne sat up in her bed and leaned over to Jack.

“It’s almost 4:22,” Anne whispered, cupping her hand over her mouth so their mother, reading in a chair by the window, couldn’t hear. “Can you distract her?”

He rolled his eyes.

“This is a stupid idea,” he said.

“It is _not_. We lived here, I died here, so she would’ve died here too. That means she’s gonna be born here. That’s how it works.”

“Even if that’s _true_ ,” Jack argued. “Even if this girl isn’t some big dumb imaginary friend of yours—who says this year’s the year? Who says this is even the right hospital?”

“I can _feel_ it, Jack,” said Anne. She could, too—all the way into the core of her very bones. “Come on. Remember that time I made myself puke so you could tell the teacher it was you and get out of school early?”

Jack sighed. “I still think you’re an idiot.”

Anne just made shooing motions at him and laid back in bed. Almost immediately, Jack started crying loudly and announced that he was hungry. Anne had to admit, he was a very good actor, even when he was a reluctant one; as their mother led him away by the hand to take him down to the hospital cafeteria for some dinner, he turned around and winked at Anne.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Anne threw off the covers and slipped out of bed. She figured she had twenty minutes, maybe thirty if Jack could really stall.

Anne headed barefoot down the hallway, trying not to attract attention by running but unable to keep her excitement from speeding her step. At last, she managed to slip up into the labor and delivery area, and she crept up to the window where people could look in at all the sleeping babies.

A man saw her trying to stand on her tip-toes to peek in, and he leaned over to her.

“Do you have a little brother or sister in here?” he asked kindly.

Anne looked up at him. She wasn’t interested in distractions, but she didn’t want to be forced out of here either. She looked at him wide-eyed, swiftly nodding her head.

“Which one are they?” he asked.

Anne peered back into the room. Her eyes caught on the right crib almost immediately; even as an infant, she would recognize her anywhere—across space, and time, and different lives.

“There,” she said, pointing in. “Max.”

The woman beside him leaned over toward Anne, and she seemed to mistake where Anne was pointing, because she said, “He’s cute. Our daughter is there—right there.”

They were tapping on the glass right where Max was lying. Anne kept her mouth shut about the miscommunication, afraid to ruin the moment or make them suspicious of her. The man said,

“I like that name. Max.”

The woman looked at him, warm and soft. “Max,” she said. “I like that too. Mind if we steal it, sweetie?” she asked Anne, and she was playful but Anne looked back at her seriously and, after a moment, nodded her head.

“Max,” she whispered, looking back through the window into the bassinet. “Hi, Max.”

The baby started to gurgle pleasantly, like she too could sense that Anne was right there, waiting for her on the other side of the glass. Anne smiled.

“She likes you,” the woman teased.

“I like her too,” said Anne.

Inside her cradle, Max opened her eyes. She kicked her feet. She seemed to be looking right at Anne.

“I can’t wait for us to grow up together again,” Anne whispered, pressing her nose to the glass. She waved at the baby, who kicked her feet again and stretched out her arms. Anne’s smile stretched wider, and she said, so quietly she could barely hear it herself, “Bye, Max. I’ll see you soon.”


End file.
